


Three Times Eames Pretended To Like Something Arthur Liked (And One Time He Didn’t Need To)

by queuebird



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 3+1, Fluff, Granola Bars, M/M, Pining, Tattoos, bullet journaling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queuebird/pseuds/queuebird
Summary: “So does Arthur have a...type?”Cobb doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “What?”“You know.” Eames attempts to arrange his limbs in a position resembling casual against the wall. “A type. Of person. He, er. Is attracted to.”
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 290





	Three Times Eames Pretended To Like Something Arthur Liked (And One Time He Didn’t Need To)

**Author's Note:**

> Over a year ago, I asked the Inception Slack if Eames canonically had tattoos. [Youcant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcantsaymylastname) sent a cap of him in the elevator with Saito, and [Aja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja) said _technically he's in the dream then, so it might not be "canonical" since he could be projecting them for fun, haha._ I immediately wrote this and then never posted it.
> 
> Thanks [Leo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyleo) for the beta!
> 
> [Vietnamese Tiếng Việt translation](https://meomeoluoi0911.wordpress.com/2020/09/06/dreamhusbands-three-times-eames-pretended-to-like-something-arthur-liked-and-one-time-he-didnt-need-to/) by [Kataly_Malfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kataly_Malfoy/pseuds/Kataly_Malfoy)

**1**

“So does Arthur have a...type?”

Cobb doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “What?”

“You know.” Eames attempts to arrange his limbs in a position resembling casual against the wall. “A type. Of person. He, er. Is attracted to.”

“Um.” Cobb leans back in his chair and rubs at his eyes. “What exactly are you asking?” 

“You know. Do his partners share certain...trends?”

“Hmm.” Cobb resumes his hunched position over the laptop. “His last couple boyfriends had tattoos, it was strange,” he says absently. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Eames says, wandering off casually. Cobb grunts in response.

...

They’re on a busy beach, the sun beating down on their heads. Seagulls circle the cloudless sky, and beach towels and umbrellas pack the sand as far as the eye can see. Eames is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and swimming shorts.

“Brilliant,” Eames says, grinning at Arthur. He digs his feet into the warmth of the sand. “Been wanting a holiday.”

Arthur, in a faded Rolling Stones tee and trousers that go down to his shins, rolls his eyes. “We’re still working.”

Eames bounces up and down a couple times. “Dream’s stable. Work done.” He pulls off his shirt and looks at Arthur. “Fancy a dip?” he says.

Arthur’s eyes are caught on the lines of ink curling around Eames’s shoulders. “You have tattoos?” 

“Of course, darling,” Eames responds smoothly. “Do you like them?” He strikes a pose.

Arthur wrinkles his nose. “They’re a bit gauche.” 

Eames frowns. Arthur turns away and takes off his own shirt. Eames barely has time to ogle Arthur’s bare back before Arthur dives into the ocean, sending up a splash of sparkling blue dots. He resurfaces a bit away from the shore, the hair stuck flat to his head making him look about twelve years old.

“It’s freezing!” he shouts. He seems delighted, and promptly drops back into the water.

Eames steps forward gingerly. He stops where the waves break, shallow enough that they just splash all over his ankles. He feels the ocean trying to suck him in, the sand around his feet deepening. 

Arthur emerges like a vision in front of Eames, shaking his head and getting water all over Eames. He dimples at Eames and says, “What are you waiting for?”

Eames takes another step forward before Arthur seizes his hand and jerks him down. Eames loses his balance spectacularly and topples into the water, swallowing a mouthful of water and sand. He surfaces coughing his lungs out, Arthur treading water in front of him and beaming. Eames narrows his eyes at him and attempts to speak before he’s interrupted by another coughing fit. Arthur pats his shoulder sympathetically.

  


**2**

“Did you get Arthur anything for Christmas?” Eames asks, spinning vacant circles in his swivel chair as he stares up at the warehouse ceiling.

“Huh? Yeah, ‘course I did. Didn’t you?” Ariadne’s voice is slightly muffled. When Eames looks at her, she’s trying to glue two edges of cardboard together, three different colors of Sharpie stuck in her mouth.

Eames scoffs. “Obviously.” He’d sent Arthur a set of gorgeous silver rose-shaped cufflinks. He was pretty proud of himself. He didn’t put his name on them of course, but he thinks that the anonymity adds to the charm.

Eames sets his feet down, halting his spinning, and leans forward, looking intently at Ariadne. “Just curious--what did you get him?”

Ariadne gives him a look as she uses the three different Sharpies in quick succession on the building wall she’s just mocked up. “Bit too late for even a belated gift, man. New Year’s was last week.”

“Indulge me,” Eames says.

“Hmm.” Ariadne returns her attention to the model. “It was a nice journal. Dots inside. Expensive as shit for no reason.”

“What for? He already has the Moleskine.”

Ariadne shrugs. “Have you seen his YouTube history? He’s obsessed with bullet journaling, of all things. He once ranted at me for, like, twenty minutes about the paper quality of different kinds of journals. It was kinda scary.”

Eames squints. “I’ve never heard him talk about that.”

Ariadne pauses. “He was a bit drunk, and it was very late.” She blows gently on her cardboard building and scraps of paper fly everywhere. “I think he liked it though,” she adds thoughtfully.

…

Arthur stares at him. “What are you doing.”

“Hm?” Eames looks up, feigning innocent surprise. “Oh, this? It’s a journal. Thing with paper inside. Good for writing stuff.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Since when have you ever journaled?”

“Oh, you know,” Eames says breezily, waving a hand in a vague sort of manner, as to indicate many years of journaling and a vast knowledge of paper quality and the like.

Arthur flicks a glance at Eames’s lap, where the journal sits. Eames shifts an arm to cover the fact that he’s only on the first page, and it’s mostly covered in drawings of penises--specifically, what Eames thinks Arthur’s penis might look like. Probably very long and beautiful. Eames lovingly adds hairs on Arthur’s bollocks.

“What kind of journal is that?” Arthur makes as if to cross the room and get a closer look. Eames shuts the book quickly and lodges it under his armpit.

“It’s, er. A bullet journal, of course.”

Arthur raises a challenging eyebrow as he moves closer. “What trackers do you use?”

“Well, you know.” Eames runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. “I don’t really use it for _that._ Mostly my...thoughts, and feelings, and whatnot.”

Arthur makes a grab for the journal. Eames scrambles out of the chair and bolts from the hotel room.

  


**3**

Arthur left his messenger bag wide open on his desk when he went out for lunch with the rest of the team, which--really, how could Eames refuse such a tantalizing invitation?

He dumps the whole thing out on the floor. A large stack of papers and cream folders fall out--information on the mark. Several pens roll across the floor and, interestingly, several granola bar wrappers. Eames inspects these closely. They’re a brand called Quaker, and they’re all the same flavor--s’mores. 

Eames flips through some of the other files (there’s a list of the mark’s Amazon orders from the past six months, a blueprint of the mark’s house and elementary school, a week’s worth of the mark’s internet history, and some loose-leaf notes in Arthur’s scrawl) until he hears footsteps and conversation ringing down the hallway. He shoves everything back into the bag and slides into his own chair right before the team bursts into the room, arguing about the best Pixar movie.

Arthur gives Eames a suspicious glare when he opens his messenger bag later, but turns away once Eames grins with as much charm as he can muster. Eames considers it a job well done.

...

A couple days later, Eames shoves into their shared hotel room hefting a bulk box of S’Mores Quaker Chewy Granola Bars.

“What the fuck,” he hears Arthur say.

He drops the box on the ground. “Found this.”

Arthur looks exasperated. “Eames--what?”

“Found it,” Eames insists. “Thought it’d make a good snack for the team. Morale-booster.” He grins, charmingly.

Arthur makes a disbelieving noise and turns away, but not before Eames sees the edge of his dimple. Eames drops onto his bed, scrolling through his emails, and waits.

Arthur sighs and says, “Well, we might as well break into them now. Make sure they’re not bad.”

Weak, even for Arthur. “Brilliant,” Eames says, and takes out an X-Acto knife.

  


**+1**

Arthur is munching on a granola bar when he meanders over to Eames’s desk in the warehouse. Eames finishes his sentence and closes his journal (it ended up being pretty handy) before he turns and raises his eyebrows at Arthur.

“Yes?” he says.

Arthur slides neatly into Eames’s lap.

They stare at each other for a bit, Arthur chewing his mouthful of granola bar with the same serious expression. He swallows. Eames holds his breath.

Arthur very carefully leans in and kisses Eames, just the touch of lips against lips.

Eames freezes, and his mind politely exits his body.

It doesn’t get any better when Arthur shifts his thighs and runs a hand up Eames’s nape, into his hair, pressing their faces even closer together. Eames exhales all at once and wraps his arms around Arthur’s waist, dragging their bodies together. Arthur breaks the kiss to mouth at Eames’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone. 

“Fuck,” Eames breathes.

Arthur smiles against Eames’s throat and starts unbuttoning Eames’s shirt. He stops. “I fucking knew it.”

Eames foggily registers the words. “What?” 

"You don’t have tattoos,” Arthur says, sounding smug.

Eames feels his insides freeze all over. “Uh. Arthur, I--”

Arthur sinks his teeth in right where Eames had dreamed a generic leaf tattoo. Eames shudders. _“Darling,”_ he manages.

“I can’t stand you sometimes,” Arthur says, muffled by Eames’s skin.

“Christ,” Eames says. “Arthur, this is great and all, but--” Arthur kisses him, messily. He tastes like fucking S’Mores Quaker Chewy Granola Bars. Eames loses his train of thought.

Arthur slides off Eames’s lap and kneels between his legs. “God, you’re hot,” he says. He places a hand on Eames’s crotch.

“Hold on,” Eames says wildly. He draws the line at whipping his dick out in the warehouse where anyone could--

He looks around. “Where is everyone?” 

“Out.” Arthur slides Eames’s zip down.

“Oh my God,” Eames says, and then doesn’t say anything else for a while.

…

They’re sitting across from each other, a table between them. Arthur is focused on the PASIV, fiddling with one of the tubes. His face is still a little flushed, hair mussed where Eames had gripped it. Eames has been staring at him for the past five minutes.

“Weren’t disappointed about the tats, were you?” he says, awkwardly.

Arthur smiles. “No, Mr. Eames.”

Eames thinks. “Was it the granola bars?” he says. 

Arthur shakes his head.

“...Not the journal, was it?”

Arthur shakes his head again and looks up. “It’s you.” His smile widens. “It’s just you.”

Eames blinks. He points at his own chest and mouths _me?_

Arthur’s eyes crinkle. Eames has a light feeling in his chest, like something is beginning.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://queuebird.tumblr.com/)


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